


Score

by WeNeedARuse



Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, M/M, Sex, Smut, Top Arthur, bottom dutch, mild choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 09:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20721719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WeNeedARuse/pseuds/WeNeedARuse
Summary: The time they shared a room on an overnight train.A one-shot from The Revenge Business





	Score

**Author's Note:**

> So.
> 
> uh.
> 
> Sorry about this.
> 
> Sorry about all of it.

Arthur’s excited. He can see that. Practically bouncing on his feet by the closed door, cheeks flushed, wide smile, whiskey soaked and lovely.

He’s not supposed to be here.

They had it planned. The train, the game and the rooms. Arthur was to play, be the lead on this one. As much as Dutch hates to admit, he’s not as good at poker as Arthur or even Hosea. Dutch, instead, was to hold back, chat up the patrons on the train. See if he can score anymore leads.

Then they were supposed to retire to their separate rooms, sleep, and leave as quick and as quiet in the morning as they could. Not forgetting to pay the croupier his cut, of course.

But instead,

Instead Arthur is here. 

Excited, alive, hungry.

Dutch leans back on the bed, feather down mattress and puffed up pillows- they paid for the best of course- and studies him. 

Such a handsome boy.

Suited up and smart.

Oh he’s attractive in whatever he wears, of course. But what Arthur usually chooses to wear is a pair of worn jeans and a checked shirt, like the cowboy he’s pretending to be. This, though, double breasted suit jacket, crisp white shirt buttoned all the way up his throat, bowtie and tight black trousers, oh. This.

This is a good look on him.

And Dutch allows himself to look on him, even though he knows he should tell him to leave. Rules are there for a reason after all. 

“They couldn’t believe it Dutch.” Arthur’s saying, sipping straight from the whiskey bottle, and Dutch thinks that while he likes the buttoned up look, it’s a shame he can’t see his throat. 

“Couldn’t believe what?”

“That some sort of countrified yokal was winning all their precious pennies.” Dutch trails his gaze down and down and down and sees what he half expected, outlined in those tight pants. 

He smiles.

“Getting a little excited there, Arthur?” He shifts on the bed, puts the book he was reading down on the bedside table. He feels Arthur’s gaze on him as he does.

“You would be too if you’d just done what I did.” 

Dutch laughs.

“I don’t think I’ve ever gotten hard over a few dollars.” 

Arthur pouts.

“I scored us a few thousand Dutch.” He murmurs and his voice, all of a sudden, it changes. Deepens. Thickens. “I think I deserve a reward.”

Oh, do you?

Dutch sits up fully, tucks one leg under his and ignores the tightening of the scar at his belly, a cut not long healed. He looks back to Arthur, and shakes his head.

“You shouldn’t be here.” He tells him

But Arthur isn’t listening.

Arthur’s moving.

Towards the bed, discarding the jacket as he does so, throwing it to the corner of the small room as he advances.

“A reward.” He says, one knee on the bed as he pulls open his bow tie, throws that to join the jacket. “A little one, what do you say?”

He wants to say no.

He wants to tell him that he made the rules for this exact reason. That they can’t court danger. That they can’t put themselves in positions where they could be caught. 

He wants to say no because Arthur wants it so much and making him wait is always a delight. 

But seeing him like this. Seeing him take control. Seeing him smile like he hasn’t done since the incident. Seeing him hard.

Aching.

He wants to say no but he won’t.

Instead he raises an eyebrow and nods his head towards the door.

“It’s locked.” Arthur grumbles, “I ain’t an idiot Dutch.”

“Are you sure about that?” 

“I felt your eyes on me the whole time.” He moves suddenly, with that speed you think he shouldn’t have, considering his height and build. Moves and is over him, body pushed up between Dutch’s spread legs, lips hovering over his,

“Well. I like to watch.” Dutch pushes at him, grips to his shoulders and shoves him down.

He smells too good.

“I know.” He speaks as he moves down Dutch’s body, opening his shirt as he goes, stopping to nip and lick and kiss and Dutch leans back against the pillow, arms behind his head, watches him. Further down, to the waistband of his trousers, undoes the first button and presses a light kiss to the new exposed skin.

“Shit Dutch,” Another button, another kiss, Dutch wets his lips and takes a deep, silent breath, 

Lets Arthur take the lead. 

It’s something that never happened. Before. And something he’s trying to let happen now and then. It has to be conscious, he has to want it, 

Arhtur has to play this right.

And it’s a game, really.

A game they play. But never acknowledge.

Exposed now, trousers and underwear pulled down and off, discarded at the bedside, and Arthur’s face is between his thighs, biting at the sensitive skin while his hand strokes up, curls around him.

When they first started this Arthur knew nothing about pleasing a man.

And now?

He knows how to please Dutch and only Dutch.

The way it should be. The way it will always be.

A tongue licks out, warm and wet and Dutch bites back a groan, eyes wide open and fixed on the vision before him. Arthur’s lips parting and,

Oh,

A fight to remain silent.

Because no-one, no-one on this fucking earth, can beat Arthur at this.

Dutch grits his teeth, reaches down to grip at his short hair, slicked back pomaded and sweet smelling, as Arthur swallows him whole.

Devours.

He watches himself sink into his mouth.

And thinks there isn’t a better sight in this world.

“That’s it.” He lets himself speak, allows it as long as he’s not loud. Allows it because the tips of Arthur’s ears are red, and his fingers are stroking over his balls and down and down and back and he’s sloppy with drink and desire and the slick sound of it is filthy and debauched and wanton.

Then wet fingers circle at him,

As he hits the back of Arthur’s throat,

And a panic hits, for a second, a moment, he wants to push him away and pull back. He wants to turn him and fuck him into the bed, spread him and have him…

But 

It’s only a second. A knee jerk reaction.

And Dutch will never allow himself to be a slave to such a thing.

So,

He closes his eyes as a finger pushes in, and teeth graze, closes his eyes and rocks his hips, thrusts up into the willing mouth, back down onto that talented finger.

Feels Arthur growl in the back of his throat, vibrate around his cock, as he presses down harder, goes faster, pushes towards an end because he wants and wants and wants.

Dutch knows the moment when Arthur realises he’s stalled, and he fights down the fierce swelling of pride in himself as Arthur pulls off, Dutch’s cock slipping from his mouth, a line of saliva connecting them.

He laughs.

And there is a second in time where they just stare at one another. But it’s no longer as awkward as it used to be. Because Arthur knows him as well as any man ever will, and he knows…

Dutch is feeling solid right now. A big score and Arthur in his shirttails. 

And, besides...he’s halfway there already.

Arthur scrabbles for the tin, clumsy in his excitement, halfway off the bed as he reaches across and then suddenly he’s back, leaning over him, one hand on the pillow besides Dutch’s head and the other working between his thighs, 

Too talented.

Too slow.

“Just fuck me.” It’s half impatience and half an unspoken desire.

“Dutch,” A reprimand. 

Dutch presses a hand to his chest and pushes Arthur back, holds him there.

It has to hurt.

It has to or it…

It has to hurt, at least a little.

And he can see that Arthur doesn’t want that. He can see that this is beyond his comprehension and for a moment Dutch debates kicking him out, leaving him cold and hard and wanting. Because he’s not going to explain this to him, and he’s not going to understand,

There’s a reason they don’t fuck like this.

But then Arthur backs down, battle lost, and lowers his head as he reaches down, slicks himself up and pushes inside.

It has to hurt.

It does hurt.

Dutch closes his eyes, lets himself have that, closes his eyes as his body adjusts to Arthur’s size. 

But Arthur doesn’t give him time. Gives him, instead, what he wants. Thrusts in hard, almost angry, snarls against the force of it, a sound Dutch rarely hears from him.

He opens his eyes and finds Arthur’s gaze.

God, lord, he’s so handsome. Too handsome. Like this. Especially like this. Over him, inside him, rigid cock tearing him apart. Lips bitten red and sweat pooling at his brow, shirt sticking to the lines of his body.

Don’t think. Don’t stop and think.

Keep going.

Arthur’s sounds, low and pushed out, send him spiralling.

Arthur’s hands around his throat calm the storm.

A game. A rule. Knowing.

He’s seen Arthur choke a hundred men to death. He’s seen these hands take lives again and again. Killers hands. Killer boy. Dutch’s boy. 

Around his throat, cutting off his breath, his own cock so hard he knows he’s not going to be able to stop himself, not this time. This he hasn’t learnt control against.

Arthur snaps his hips, violent now, 

He learnt from the best.

And it hurts and it burns and it feels so good that Dutch thinks…

This might be their best fuck yet.

He reaches up, grips hard to the collar of Arthur’s open shirt, holds on as he pounds into him. Feels his own orgasm crash and burn in him, touches himself for barely a second before he’s coming all over his hand, coming to the sound of Arthur’s shocked laugh.

His boy. This boy. The one no-one suspects.

He’s going to come, hips canting, losing rhythm, a long drawn out groan and his hands leave Dutch’s throat, push into the soft mattress as he rears up, spasming, eyes wild, mouth open, a single sharp sound.

Dutch reaches down, hands to Arthur’s stomach, and pushes him back hard.

So that he comes on the mattress, between his spread legs, over his thighs, white and glistening.

Silence.

And then Arthur lowers his head and laughs, a short sharp laugh, before he stands and fetches the cloth from the washstand. He hands it to Dutch.

“You alright?”

I don’t know.

“Yes.” Dutch cleans himself up quickly and throws the cloth back to him.

“If this is what I get for three thousand.” Arthur muses as Dutch lights a cigar and takes a deep drag, “What am I gonna get for double that?”

Dutch blows out the smoke and holds his gaze.

A challenge.

“A good night's sleep and an unopened bottle of whiskey.” Arthur drops his head back and lets out an exaggerated groan. 

“That’s no fun.”

Dutch grins.

“Come to me with six thousand.” He gestures to the door. He really needs to be alone now. “And we’ll see.” 

Arthur nods, hand on the door handle.

“Dutch.”

Dutch picks up his book and gives him a pointed look.

“Yes Arthur?”

“Thank you.”

He smiles.

“You’re very welcome. Now leave me alone.”

**Author's Note:**

> If I could kindly ask...please be gentle with me. I tried something new and I’m not sure it worked. I promise I’m trying hard to get something out there, I miss my Vandermorgan. So yes, please...kind words if you feel them 🙂


End file.
